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Somewhat impatiently, I wait for the driver to bring my bag and the food to Fallon’s front door. After handing him a hefty tip, I whip out my phone.
Ethan:
Food should be arriving.
Ethan:
ETA 2 min.
Fallon:
Thanks for the heads up and for lunch! ??
I groan in anticipation as I count down sixty seconds before ringing the bell. Through the wooden door, her voice shouts, “Be right there.”
My stomach cramps as I wait for her.
The door flies open and she’s within reach. Her eyes flare as she takes me in. Her lips part as she visually inspects me from head to toe.
Then, in typical Fallon fashion, she drawls, “Well, if I’d known you were coming, let alone dressing as a throwback to my graduation night, I might have unpacked my formal dresses.”
I clear my throat and ask tentatively, “Good surprise?”
I’m almost knocked back a step when she throws open her arms for me to step into. Wasting no time, I wrap her up tight and bury my nose in her neck. Holding on for dear life, I just breathe in her scent.
That’s when she starts wiggling around. “Witch? What is it?”
“I hate to say this…”
I loosen my arms. “What?”
“Is there something in your pocket jabbing me or are you really that happy to see me?”
I want to howl with laughter, but she and I need to talk. “Why don’t you invite me in and let’s talk?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
I left the question open because the response was so overwhelming. There isn’t much most of you wouldn’t do for love.
Your lucky families.
—Viego Martinez, Celebrity Blogger
My home looks like the game Tetris landed in random locations. Not to mention, when the pieces touched down, they exploded. After Ethan’s text, the only thing I wanted to do was curl up in bed and flush out all of the conflicting emotions once and for all but now I need to throw on clothes so I can meet the delivery driver.
Grumbling, I shove myself out of bed and tug on a pair of shorts and a top before glaring at the half-opened box still on the chair. My eyes circle around the almost pristine sanctuary I’ve created in muted grays, crisp white, with a dash of orange—courtesy of Austyn and Paige dragging me to HomeGoods last weekend. Even as I make my way over to the box, I can’t restrain the snicker as I recall Beckett Miller up on a ladder, hanging my curtain rod along with Austyn’s husband. “There are just some things you’re not meant to forget,” I say aloud as I unpack the box I carefully put together from my mother’s.
Lifting her jewelry box, I notice a white edge sticking out the side. Frowning, I set it on the bed before lifting the lid.
My heart catches when I see my name in her bold writing.
Hand shaking, I touch the envelope as if it’s going to disappear, a figment of an overactive imagination. But the texture of the paper sends chills up my spine. Lifting it carefully, I sink to the floor with my back to the upholstered footboard of my bed. Using a nail to slit the back of the seal, I read:
Dearest Fallon,
I don’t know where I’ll be when you read this. Likely, I’ll be somewhere beyond your physical reach. I’m not writing this because I’m giving up hope, darling, but because I’m realistic.
As each day passes, I’m coming to terms with my prognosis. I’ve asked the medical staff to keep certain information from you because some lies are kinder than the truth. Often a non-answer is kinder than the answer itself. Either way, it’s going to hurt like hell to leave you, but the knowledge you don’t have to suffer inside my head every single minute makes it easier to bear. Trust me, there’s an enormous difference between acknowledging what you know to be true, accepting it, and the way a person reacts to it. As humans, facing pain, lies are something we’re not equipped for. Few have the strength to move past the betrayal and look at the reason why.